


Picture of Health

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been on tour for less than a week when Gerard sees Frank hooking up with the dude from Twin Atlantic. </p><p>(Takes place a few months before <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/312203l">In Sickness and in Health</a> from the yobrothatssick challenge. desfinado asked for a timestamp prequel back in, uh, April 2012, and I have finally gotten around to finishing it, a day late and a dollar short.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture of Health

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has listened to me talk about this for over a year (mrsronweasley, shiningartifact, mistresscurvy) and a special thank you to my live-in beta mrsronweasley for being AWESOME and SWIFT about it, and for my non-live-in-but-still-on-call beta shiningartifact for being wonderful and merciless! <3

They've been on tour for less than a week when Gerard sees Frank hooking up with the dude from Twin Atlantic. Not, like, making out with. _Hooking up_ with. Gerard knows he should back away and go back to watching Mikey play Mario Kart on the bus, but Frank is taking these loud, hitching breaths as the dude (Barry - Gerard thinks his name is Barry) shoves him up against the side of the bus hard enough that Frank's on his toes, his sneakers scuffing against the dirt of the parking lot.

It's dim here - Frank is being sort of smart, at least - and if it wasn't for Frank's loud, frantic breaths, Gerard probably wouldn't even have paused as he went past the space between the two busses. Now he finds himself easing forward instead of heading away, his cheek pressed against the cool metal of the back of the bus as he peers around the corner. 

Barry has his fingers wrapped in Frank's hair, and there's a muffled thump as Frank's head hits the side of the bus. Frank moans, but it doesn't sound like pain. It sounds like he's about to fucking _come_ , and the guy doesn’t even have his jeans open yet, Gerard doesn't think. 

"Please. Please. Fuck. _Please_." Frank's voice comes out hushed, panting, desperate, and Gerard's hand is sweating where he's got it pressed against the side of the bus.

"Yeah?" The guy from Twin Atlantic is a little breathless himself. Gerard catches the glint of Frank's eyes as he nods, desperately, and tilts his head back. Barry presses his mouth against Frank's throat, and his hands are busy between their bodies. It's the clink of Frank's belt-buckle being undone that jolts Gerard, and he makes himself roll back around, pressing the back of his head against the back of the bus for a second, and closing his eyes. 

*

"I didn’t know Frank knew whats-his-name from Twin Atlantic," Gerard says, later, his head resting against Mikey's bony shoulder on the couch. Mikey had moved on from playing Mario Kart by the time Gerard got back to the bus, and was watching _The Crow_. Gerard had made them both coffee and settled in beside him, having successfully put off thinking about Frank pressed up against the outside of the bus for a whole ten minutes.

"Craig?" Mikey asks. He sounds sleepy, and his glasses are sliding down his nose as he peers at the TV. "He's been hooking up with Craig since Tuesday."

"No," Gerard says. Huh. "Barry."

Mikey yawns. "Frank gets to know everyone on tour."

Gerard is quiet, because - yeah. It's not like he doesn't know that. Frank gets like this on tour. Gerard pulls his hood up and settles back against Mikey's shoulder, the hood padding his head a little. 

Frank comes in just a few minutes later. He looks blissed out and hazy, and he has dirt on the knees of his jeans. "Hey!" he says, like he's delighted and shocked to find them there. "What time is it? It feels late. Is it late?"

"It's nine-thirty," Mikey says. "And shh, this is the good part."

Frank presses his lips together, still curved up in a smile, and pushes his sneakers off, turning to look back at the TV as he makes his way down to the bunk area. 

Gerard watches him go. Frank had been sucking cock between the tour buses at nine-thirty on a Wednesday, with a guy he hadn't known until a week ago.

"Frank gets weird on tour," he murmurs.

"Frank's always weird," Mikey responds. "And shh."

Gerard presses his lips together like Frank had, and watches the Crow.

*

Frank gets sick right before the show on Friday, showing up to sound check looking pale and wretched. 

"Are you okay?" Ray asks, frowning in that worried way he has. 

Frank just jerks his head in a nod. Gerard thinks his skin looks like it's too tight on his skull.

Sound check goes fine, but it seems quiet up on stage - Frank's not goofing off, just hitting his notes without his usual commentary, and his weird stillness behind Gerard makes him keep thinking it's Mikey back there, having shifted too far to stage right.

Gerard keeps glancing back, and each time, Frank's head is down and his fingers are moving grimly on the frets. Once, he sees Mikey drift over and nudge Frank's shoulder. Frank glances up, nodding. The skin around his mouth has a greenish tint to it.

They wrap up and by the time Gerard turns around, all he sees is Frank's back as he races offstage, his guitar propped haphazardly against a speaker.

When Gerard makes it offstage, Frank's puking into a trashcan in the hallway just past the stage entrance, clutching the sides of it with tight white fingers, his whole head pretty much inside the big industrial trashcan. 

"Uh-oh," Mikey says, watching from a respectful distance.

Gerard's thinking of going to hold Frank's hair back, but - 

"Don't touch me," Frank rasps, his voice echoing a little against the metal of the can. "I'm fine."

He vomits again immediately. "Fine" for Frank is different than fine for other people.

He finally pushes himself up from the can, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well. That sucked."

"Are you - done?" Ray asks cautiously.

Frank nods shakily, still clutching at the trashcan with one hand. 

"Frankie." Ray reaches out to steer him away from the trashcan of doom. "Fuck."

"Fuck," Frank agrees. He's shaking, hard - Gerard can see his shoulders trembling from here. "I'm okay, though."

"Right," Ray says. "Right, only -"

Frank shakes his head grimly, his eyes almost closed, letting Ray steer him towards the dressing room. Gerard trails behind, looking around for Lauren. He's not sure what they'll be able to do if Frank can't play, but there has to be something. 

Frank balks at the door to the dressing room, clutching at the frame and glaring over his shoulder at all of them. "Don't tell Lauren," he says grimly.

"I think she'll figure it out," Ray points out. "If she, you know. Sees you." 

Frank shakes his head, his fingers curling tightly on the doorframe. He's so pale, his skin looks translucent, and he's sweating, his hairline damp with it, even as he shivers there in the overly air-conditioned backstage. "I'm fine," he says. "Don't."

"Okay," Ray says calmly, nudging him forward. "Okay, let's just -"

Frank stumbles through the doorway, collapsing sideways onto the couch. 

Ray looks back at Mikey. "Go find Lauren, will you?" he asks quietly. "Tell her -" He gestures at the crumpled heap of Frank on the couch.

Mikey nods and heads out.

"I don't like you." Frank's hair is over his face, and his hands are both fisted against his stomach where he's curled up on his side on the couch.

"You can't play like this, Frankie." Gerard slouches down in one of the chairs by the dressing table and studies him. "Is this food poisoning, or the flu?"

"Neither." Frank's eyes are shut behind his hair, and he sounds grim. "I'm not sick. It was just nerves."

"Yeah, those…roadies were really scary," Ray says agreeably.

"I'm fine. I can play like this. I just _did_ play like this." Frank bites his lip, digging his fists against his stomach harder. 

"Frank -" Ray's got his hands out, hauling Frank up as Frank pants out, "Fuck. Fuck -" and rolls off the couch, staggering toward the bathroom. 

*

Frank spends the lead-up to stage call in the bathroom, not actively puking the whole time, but definitely in arm's reach of the toilet. In between bouts of retching, he insists he's going to be able to play that night.

Finally, about thirty minutes before show time, he emerges, the skin around his mouth tight, but the set of his lips determined. He smells of mint toothpaste and only slightly of vomit, and his hair is damp where he'd clearly wet it in the sink, comb marks from his fingers still visible.

"I got this," he says firmly.

"Right." Ray eyes him. "Do you need a trashcan on stage?"

"Yes," Frank says, after a moment, equally firmly. 

Frank plays the show that night, not missing a note. He's definitely pale and drawn, but he plays with his hair in his face and his head down and he nails it. Gerard's at the dead mic between songs, talking about the sound levels and asking to switch things up - he wants to close with Vampire Money, instead of Cancer - and to the side of the stage, in the dimness behind one of the side speakers, Frank is bent over the trash can, guitar slung over his back, clearly puking again.

The lights are down, though, and Gerard doesn't think the audience can catch a glimpse.

*

Two nights later, Ray ends up stepping in to play with Twin Atlantic when Barry gets the flu bad enough that he can't stop puking long enough to make the stage. Gerard watches from side-stage with Frank, who's bounced back from his flu, mostly, but is still a little more quiet than usual. Frank slides down after a while to sit cross-legged, leaning his head back against the wall, tilted to keep the hair out of his eyes.

Gerard shrugs and sits down next to him, gnawing on his thumbnail and watching the band. "He doesn't look too good," he says to Frank, nodding at the lead singer. The guy's mouth is tight and his movements short.

"I think he has what Barry has," Frank says. "It's going around."

Gerard looks at Frank. "Yeah," he says after a beat.

"Sam's a tough guy, though," Frank adds, still watching the stage. "He's got this."

It's a short set, and Sam does make it - he books it off the stage after, but the audience doesn't even seem to notice, the band gets decent applause for an opening act. 

Gerard gets to his feet, and reaches down to haul Frank up when Frank holds up a hand. Frank stumbles into him a little, and he smells good again, like soap and cigarettes, instead of the sickly, sweaty smell he's had for days. 

"Thanks," Frank says to him, then smiles brightly at Toro coming off the stage. "You did awesome." 

Ray just shakes his head at Frank, sighing, but Frank doesn't stop grinning, and Ray doesn't say anything. No one ever does, really, Gerard thinks. It’s not like they don’t all know about it - it’s not like Frank's subtle - but his hook-ups aren't anything they ever say anything about, not to his face.

Which is weird. They say anything they want to each other. Everything. They're family.

Gerard guesses you don't talk about hook-ups with family. Generally. He always did with Mikey, though, but both Frank and Ray tell him they're different than most brothers. 

Frank's steady that night during the show, no big theatrics, no stage-diving or whatever, but he's good, he's solid, he's there. No puking.

Gerard sort of expects Frank to fall asleep in the dressing room after - he looks worn-out, circles under his eyes, hair soaked with sweat - but he showers in the communal washroom down the hall, and comes back in clean jeans, shrugging into a cardigan over his t-shirt, stripping his hair back from his face. "I feel like a new man," he says solemnly, then grins, bright and sudden. "Fuck being sick."

Ray eyes him from across the room. "What are you up to?" His tone is suspicious.

"Nothing!" Frank sounds indignant. "I'm just back to my usual self."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ray says. 

Frank laughs, and flops down on the couch next to Gerard. He lies back and rests his head on Gerard's thigh, and doesn't say anything about the smell, even though Gerard didn't shower after the concert tonight - or last night, to be fair - and he's pretty sure these are the jeans that weren't necessarily clean back when he packed them for tour. "I feel great," Frank says. He's got his eyes shut, but he's smiling, and the circles under his eyes have kind of faded. "What are we doing tonight?"

"Sleeping," Ray says firmly. 

Gerard opens his mouth, then shuts it, because, yeah. "Food?" he offers. "Then sleep."

"Pizza!" Mikey says, and reaches for his cell phone.

Frank's phone buzzes, loud and insistent, and Frank squirms against Gerard's thigh as he fishes it out of his jeans. Gerard can see the screen as Frank hits the buttons, but Frank doesn't try to tilt it away, so Gerard doesn't bother not to look. The text is from someone named Rachel, and Gerard doesn’t see more than that before Frank is texting back. _Finished - see you in 10?_

"Are you going out?" Gerard asks before he can pretend that he wasn't actively watching.

Frank tilts his head back to grin up at him, the back of his head digging painfully into Gerard's thigh. "It's early," he says. 

"The bus is surrounded," Mikey points out.

"I don't need the bus." Frank swings to his feet, and stretches. Gerard winces when Frank's shoulder cracks loudly enough for Gerard to hear it from here. "Rachel has a car."

"Rachel?" Mikey looks up from his own phone. 

"Yep." Frank is shrugging a jacket on over his cardigan. 

"Huh." Mikey's mouth quirks up a little on the side. "Tell her I said hi."

"Yep," Frank says again, smiling just a little wider, and huh. Gerard hates the phrase "sloppy seconds" and that isn't what this is, anyway, but the idea of this girl, whoever she is, knowing what both Mikey and Frank sound like when they come is interesting.

"Isn't Rachel the merch girl with Twin Atlantic?" he says, finally, as Frank opens the door, about to head out.

"Yep." Frank and Mikey say it at the same time, and Frank disappears out the door.

"The redhead," Ray says after a handful of beats. 

"With the tongue piercing," Mikey adds, nodding.

"Huh," Gerard and Ray say at the same time, and man, they really need to stop doing that. 

After a while, they all gear themselves up and make it to the bus with minimal fuss. It never matters how long they take, there are always the stalwart fans who will stand by the bus until the bitter end. They get through it pretty fast - probably signing only about twenty autographs each, no pictures - courtesy of Mehdi, who promised both the fans and them that if a single camera came out, the band would be dragged to the bus immediately, even if he had to carry them himself.

The bus pulls out just after they stumble on, but they're not driving all night tonight - they're at a hotel not too far away. Far enough, though, that Gerard falls asleep on the couch in the lounge immediately after they get on, waking up disoriented and foggy when the bus clunks to a stop in the parking lot underneath the hotel. 

"Are you getting sick?" Mikey says, brushing the back of his hand up against Gerard's forehead after he wakes him up.

"What?" Gerard can't get his eyes to focus, and it feels like it's been hours since they pulled out of the venue parking lot, instead of a few minutes. 

"Have you been hooking up with Frank?" Mikey's mouth quirks to the side. "Dangerous hobby."

Gerard shakes his head, even though obviously Mikey knows he's not. "I'm okay." 

"Uh-huh." Mikey's already moved on, looking at his phone as he waits for Gerard to haul himself off the couch. "Frank's gonna meet us later. Keep your phone on - he's rooming with you, and he doesn't have a key."

"Right." Gerard fumbles in his jacket pockets. He's sure his phone is in there. Or else it's back in the bunk. Maybe in his jeans? 

Mikey watches him for a minute, then does a swift pat down and produces his phone from a jacket pocket Gerard is certain he's already checked. 

"I'll just hold on to it," Gerard says.

"Good thought." Mikey nudges his shoulder, and they head off the bus.

*

Gerard's not asleep when his phone buzzes violently from where he's tucked it underneath his pillow. He'd gotten his backpack open, and his bathroom kit pulled out, but Iron Chef Redemption had been on and he'd sort of just ended up on the bed with his boots on, and lost track of time.

He doesn’t even reach for the phone - he just stumbles to the door and opens it, shushing Frank when he opens his mouth, because Alton Brown has the votes in his hand, and this is it. Frank shuts his mouth right away, dropping his bag to the floor. They both sit on the end of the bed in unison, hands clasped between their knees, and watch as Geoffrey Zakarian makes it to the next round. Gerard sighs in happiness and Frank applauds as the announcement is made. 

"He's fucking awesome," Gerard says, slouching back on the bed. "And I really like his glasses."

"Yeah," Frank yawns and stretches. "I fucking love him on Chopped."

Gerard slumps back happily and scoots back until he's against the pillows. "He's a really good judge."

They end up staying on the Food Network for a while, the judging and bustling in the kitchen a hospitable background noise to their conversation, and Gerard really was going to shower, but he ends up just shoving his bags onto the floor, and stripping off his jeans. They've got the room for two whole days. That shower isn't going anywhere. 

He expects Frank to get up and go clean up, but Frank just yawns hugely, and finally pushes himself off of Gerard's bed, where he's been sprawled, and takes his own jeans off. "I'm beat," he says, crawling under the covers on the other bed. He's in his briefs and t-shirt and thick gray cardigan, and he's shivering. 

Gerard clicks off the light, and then the TV, and the room is suddenly quiet. It's early yet, so they can still hear the thrum of the hotel around them, the faint ding of the elevator down the hall, the hum of conversation from guests walking past their door. 

It _is_ really early and Gerard rolls onto his side, tugs the covers up over his shoulder as he looks over to where Frank is a faint grey shadow of covers in the other bed. "How was your night with Rachel?" 

He thought about going for lascivious, but he's never been good at lascivious, except on stage. His tone just comes out curious.

"Good," Frank says sleepily. 

"What's she like?" Gerard's tired too, his brain slow and logy, like he actually is getting sick.

"Rad." Frank rolls over to face him and Gerard can see him blink in the dim light. "She taught herself bass. Like Mikey did." He yawns again.

"Where did you guys go?" Where would Frank take someone on a date in - what city were they in again? 

Frank blinks at him, slowly. "I told you - she has a car."

"Oh." Gerard's face gets hot in the darkness. He should have figured that, but he sort of thought they had, like, gone somewhere, done something. Like. Something other than what they could have done in Rachel's backseat. "So you like her?"

"Yeah." Frank's voice is slow, sleepy. "I like her."

"What about Barry, though?" Gerard _knows_ he should just stop talking. 

Frank doesn't seem to care. "I like Barry, too," he says. "Don't worry, Gee." There's a rustle of blankets as Frank settles in further. "No one's getting hurt here. Barry's got a girl." He yawns again. "Actually, Rachel's got a girl, too." 

"Oh." Gerard maybe needs to get out more. "And they all know?"

"Everyone knows," Frank says. "It's all good, Gee. I wouldn't fuck things up like that."

"I know," Gerard says, because he does. "I just don't get it - not really." 

"It's okay." Frank yawns again. "Let's - can we talk more tomorrow? I'm worn out."

"Yeah," Gerard says. "Of course." 

He's pretty sure Frank's asleep before he finishes speaking. He lies there, listening to Frank's slow and steady breathing, and thinks about Rachel crawling into bed with her girl, curling up next to her in the dark, and telling her about fucking Frank in the backseat of her - their? - car. Did they fuck? Probably. Everyone's a grown-up, so why wouldn't they? She could just clamber over the front seat, tug her panties out of the way and sink down on him right there.

Or maybe - he doesn't know. He turns over, away from Frank, tugging his blankets up over his shoulder. Maybe there are rules or, like, conditions. Maybe she just sucked him off, or maybe - maybe he ate her out. Is that less intimate than fucking? It seems like it would be _more_ intimate, to Gerard, but - he doesn't get out much.

It's always awkward, hooking up in a car, though, and Gerard spends a little while working out the logistics of it. He has Frank in the footwell, Rachel spread out before him, hanging on with one hand to the back of the seat, both of them sweating and panting, not worrying about being loud or being seen, when Frank snores loudly in his sleep, and rolls over.

Gerard is jolted out of his reverie. _He's_ sweating, and he shoves the blankets down. There's a flurry of voices right outside their door, a man laughing way too loud, and now Gerard's wide awake, with nothing to do. 

He sighs, and shifts, reaching for his phone on the bedside table. He pulls his blanket up over his head and brings the phone under there with him, where the glow won't wake up Frank, as he sighs and texts Mikey. 

*

Two weeks go by, and Frank gets a bad cold that lasts four days and three more crew members end up with it too, though that can't _all_ be Frank's fault, Gerard thinks. Maybe some of them are hooking up with each other and just passing Frank's virus around. Or maybe Frank's just really keeping a steady pace as he works his way through the tour? 

Gerard's considering how the timing of the hook ups versus the illnesses when Frank bounces into the room, grinning broadly. 

"Hollows," Frank says. "They're playing at the Subterranean. You in?"

"Fuck, yeah," Gerard says. Hollows is this girl-fronted band Frank's been playing non-stop lately. they're just barely becoming known, but they've got this sort of 60s sort of feel to them, but with a real soul to it, and a dark side, even with the bouncy beat. Of course Gerard is in. "Tonight?"

"It's last minute, but no show tonight!" Frank sounds gleeful. "We're _free_!" 

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Gerard says, and Frank pushes up on his toes and drops back down, grinning wide. 

They meet in the lobby to head out to the show. Frank is already sitting on one of the lobby couches there when Gerard shows up with Mehdi trailing behind him.

"Hey!" Frank pushes himself up when he sees Gerard. "Okay! You ready?"

Frank looks - not great. The circles are back under his eyes, huge and dark. He sounds weird, too, his voice hoarse and his enthusiasm forced. 

"Uh." Gerard looks at him. "I’m ready. Are you okay?"

"I'm good! Let's go!" Frank pushes off the chair, and he does seem okay, striding out of the hotel with a bounce in his step. 

The L is about six blocks away and it's chilly out. Gerard shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders up around his ears. Frank's in so many layers he's almost unrecognizable, but when Gerard turns to grin at him, he's shivering hard, despite all those clothes and two scarves.

"You okay?" Gerard asks.

"Fine." Frank's teeth are actually chattering, something Gerard hasn't seen in real life before. 

They get to the stop and Gerard is about halfway down the steps when he realizes that Frank isn't with him. Also that Mehdi is calling his name, because Mehdi clearly _did_ notice that Frank isn't heading down either. Gerard turns and pushes his way back up past the people coming down to where Frank is leaning heavily against the wall near the entrance to the station. 

"I don’t think I can make it." Frank's shivering pretty hard, and he sounds both exhausted and pissed off. "Fucking fuck me. I just feel like shit, and my head hurts so bad that the idea of a show is just -"

He trails off, lips pressed together. 

"Fuck, Frank." Gerard presses his shoulder sympathetically. "No problem. Let's head back."

"Fuck that," Frank says, shaking his head violently, then looking like he might puke for a second at the sudden movement. "Take the tickets, it's cool, I'll be fine."

Gerard hesitates as Frank pushes the tickets at him. "That's not - no, Frankie, come on, let's both -"

"Just tell me how it is, okay?" Frank coughs, then coughs again, wincing. "I gotta go - I'm gonna crash. Concert call me or whatever."

"Are you sure?" Gerard says it at the same time as Mehdi, who's looking back and forth between the two of them, clearly torn as to who he should stick with. "Take Frank back to the hotel," Gerard tells him. "I'm fine."

Frank glares at him from underneath his huge hood. " _I'm_ fine, it's six blocks, and you -" He flicks his hand at Gerard's head. " - stand out like a sore thumb."

Mehdi looks, too, taking in Gerard's bright red hair which, okay, has caused more than a few issues when he's trying to be stealth, and takes a step closer to Gerard. "Frank will be okay," Mehdi says firmly. "I'm with you."

Frank nods, and waves tiredly, clearly gearing himself up first before pushing himself off the wall. "Sorry, Gee," he says. 

"Feel better, Frank," Gerard calls after him, and turns to head down the stairs, Mehdi close on his heels.

*

The show is good, but weird, with just him and Mehdi. Like, it's an amazing performance, but Gerard has a hard time not thinking about how much better it would be if Frank was there.

When they get back to the hotel, his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's Mikey, like Mikey somehow knew when he set foot in the building. _you're with me and toro tonight_.

Weird. He texts back as they get on the elevator to go up, but it takes him so long that Mehdi is depositing him at Mikey's door just as he hits send. 

Gerard rattles the knob and there's a pause and then a thump, which Gerard knows is Mikey letting himself fall forward to look through the peephole, his hand braced on either side, and then the door opens, and Mikey says, "You're in here tonight because Frank's gross enough that Lauren's afraid you'll get it and lose your voice."

His phone buzzes in his hand just then, but he ignores it, gesturing Gerard in to the room. 

"Do you always ignore texts from me?" Gerard asks, waving hey to Toro, who is sprawled on the bed playing some video game that seems to involve alien life forms.

Mikey looks at him for a handful of beats, then looks at his phone, reading Gerard's text asking why he's with them and not with Frank. "You're in here tonight," he says in the exact same tone as before. "Because Frank's gross enough that Lauren's afraid you'll get it and lose your voice." 

"I was just _asking_." Gerard sits down on the bed and unzips his boots, shoving them off with a sigh. His bags are parked neatly in a corner of the room, and he really, really wants to get his jeans off. He gets down on his knees, rummaging through his bag for his pajama pants. "Is Frank _okay_?"

"He's coughing like crazy," Ray says. "You wouldn't be able to sleep through it anyway."

"He didn't look that good before." Gerard unearths his ancient plaid flannel pants and gets to his feet. He works open the button and zipper and shoves his jeans down his thighs. "Should I check on him?"

"Lauren said I should kill you if you tried to go in there," Ray says placidly, not looking up from the screen.

"She said it was like _28 Days Later_ and she doesn’t want you to become a zombie." Mikey pauses, frowning. "I don't think she really _got_ that movie, 'cause that's not actually how it worked."

Gerard frowns, and flops down on Mikey's bed, pulling his phone out again and texting Frank, just to be sure he was still alive, and not a zombie.

"There's a pull-out on the couch," Ray comments. "For you."

Gerard shrugs one shoulder, watching his phone for confirmation of Frank's continued existence. "Me and Mikey can share." 

Mikey crawls onto the bed, knocking against Gerard with his shoulder _and_ his elbow before settling down and flipping open his laptop. Gerard tucks his feet under Mikey's leg as his phone buzzes. 

_IM FINE_

Gerard frowns. _Lauren says you could turn into a zombie_

_Not a zombie. Just a tired old man._

Gerard grins and starts typing back, but his phone interrupts him with another text from Frank. _How was the show?_

Gerard bites his lip, going back and forth between lying and telling the truth, but - _fuckin awesome_. He had, in fact, concert-called Frank - Frank _knew_ it had been great.

 _fuck my fucking lungs_ Frank writes back. Then: ☹ 

Gerard writes back ☹ but immediately wants to go for a smoke really fucking bad. 

He thinks about getting up, and putting his boots back on, and going out front to smoke real quick and come back. He even starts to push himself up, but Toro says, "No."

"I just want to -"

"Lauren told me to kill you." Toro looks up at him. "I don't want to do that."

"I just need a _smoke_ ," Gerard says plaintively.

"Solidarity," Toro says firmly. "Frank can't smoke, neither should you."

"Frank can't _breathe_ ," Gerard says bitterly. "So really, I _should_ smoke. For solidarity."

Ray rolls his eyes, and Gerard frowns harder and slouches back, arms crossed over his chest. Mikey's on some porn site with the sound off and Gerard half-heartedly watches over his shoulder for a few minutes, still fuming. Still wanting a smoke. Ugh.

" _Ugh_ ," he says out loud, finally, scrabbling at the covers until they're down far enough that he can climb under them. It's not late, not really, but they've been going-going-going for days and there's nothing _else_ to do, since he's pretty much being held hostage in the room, so. 

He tugs hard on the blanket until Mikey lifts up enough for him to pull it over his shoulder. He sighs, suddenly more tired than irritated. The bed is comfortable, and he closes his eyes, the sound of both Mikey and Ray, the dim glow of the bedside lamps, the quiet rustling of the hotel around them, sort of as comforting in its own way as the hum of the highway under the wheels of the bus can be.

Sometimes, Gerard thinks, yawning, it's weird to think about being at home, being off tour, sleeping without hotel sounds, bus sounds, band sounds. Without Mikey in the next bunk, or the next room, or right here beside him. He shifts a little, feeling the bed dip behind him under Mikey's weight, and falls asleep.

*

Lauren drags Frank to the ER the next morning, against his vehement wishes, and with Mikey in tow to keep Frank appeased. They return with Frank's prescription for cough syrup with codeine filled and clutched in Lauren's hand. 

"This is a really bad idea," Gerard observes, watching Lauren check her watch, then turn to Frank with the bottle and a spoon.

"You have to be on stage in ninety minutes." She starts to push the bottle into his hand, then stops, looks around, and hands it to Gerard. "Take this…" She pauses, chewing on her lip. "Forty-five minutes out. Or. Like." She looks at Gerard like he's going to be able to help her out on this decision regarding administration of hardcore medicinal narcotics. 

Which, okay. "Half-hour, tops. The codeine's gonna knock him out." He takes the bottle from her and looks at the instructions on the label. "Let's give him, like, half of what they say before stage call. That should keep him okay for the show, mostly."

" _Mostly_?" Frank looks at Lauren, then back at Gerard. 

"Okay," Lauren says to Gerard. She hesitates, holding out the bottle. "Are you okay with this?"

He snorts. Codeine. Codeine was never his thing. It made him feel sick. "Half before, and a full dose after."

Frank coughs. "You guys _suck_." He coughs again, harder. "I'm fine," he rasps. "I don't even need it."

"Half before," Gerard says again firmly. "C'mon." They've already been through sound check without Frank, and he knows there's a decent couch in the dressing room. 

Frank gets through the show, fine, no problems. The cough syrup just smoothes the edges of how bad he feels - Gerard knows that feeling, it's why he kept trying codeine back in the day, despite the fact that he always, always puked after taking it. Frank's just a little high going on stage - grinning and a little wobbly, but good. 

He's real sweaty coming off stage, and even more wobbly. He still seems high, but - Gerard presses a hand against his forehead - more from the fever than the codeine. 

"Lauren," Gerard calls out, pushing up on his toes to scan the backstage for her, as Frank sags against him a little, and coughs, turning his face against Gerard's chest. 

"Sorry," he says, turning his face up to face Gerard. His eyes are super-glassy, and his hand is moist and chilly when he reaches up and presses it against Gerard's face, like the weirdo he is. "I don't want to get you sick." He pushes himself up a little. "I won't get you sick." His tone is stubborn, but he coughs again almost immediately.

Gerard sort of holds his breath, trying to be subtle about it, trying not to suck in Frank's germs. His throat feels okay. He's fine. Maybe his body is just _used_ to Frank's germs. 

"Let's get you out to the bus," Gerard says. "Like, now." He snags a crew member, who calls Mehdi on his earpiece, and the two of them escort Gerard and Frank out, quickly. There are kids by the bus, even though the show let out five minutes ago, and a shriek goes up, but it's quick, and they're on board before it even subsides. Security is keeping them far enough back that they're okay, and Mikey and Ray will end up taking the brunt of it, once they emerge.

"Maybe I'll go out later," Gerard says breathlessly, as he hauls Frank up the steps. Maybe he needs to start working out again. "Help out Ray and Mikey."

Frank collapses on the couch once they stagger into the lounge. He lies there, wheezing. "Yeah," he says. "You probably should." He's still got his hand wrapped in Gerard's sleeve, like he forgot it was there, and Gerard collapses down beside him and - let's be honest - wheezes a little bit himself.

"You did good tonight," Gerard says, when he gets his breath back. 

"Fuck you, of course I did," Frank says, then coughs, and coughs again, and it sounds like his chest is breaking up into pieces, like an ice floe, like chunks of lung - Gerard doesn't even know, it just sounds _bad_. 

"Breathe," Gerard says stupidly, helplessly, like he can make it happen just by ordering it.

Frank looks pissed off, even while coughing. He gets it together after a minute, but his breath still sounds rough and whistles in his chest, loud enough that Gerard can hear it. 

"Here." Gerard hauls himself off the couch and rummages around in the bags that were put on board earlier when they checked out, finally finding Frank's. The bottle of cough syrup is wrapped in a hoodie, and he extracts it. He spends a second thinking about finding a spoon, then just thrusts the bottle at Frank. "One big swallow," he orders.

"That's what _he_ said," Frank responds gloomily, taking the bottle. "This tastes like death."

"I'll get you water." Gerard grabs a bottle from the mini fridge, pushing it into Frank's hand.

"Ugh." Frank coughs as he says it, frowning as Gerard looks at him, exasperated. "Fine, _fine_."

"No one ever had to convince _me_ to take codeine," Gerard points out.

"That's cause you were an idiot," Frank says, thickly, but sighs, and lifts the bottle to his mouth, the water bottle poised right next to it. He swallows the medicine, and makes a grotesque face, quickly switching to swig down water afterward.

Gerard watches as he pants for breath, his mouth twisted. "You okay?"

"It tastes so gross." Frank swallows, then swallows again. 

Gerard's stomach twists in solidarity.

"Ugh," Frank says, breathing through his mouth. His face is both pale and green, and he's got that sort of look that -

"Are you gonna puke it back up?" Gerard asks. "Not on the couch." He gears up to haul Frank to the tiny bathroom down the hall.

"No." Frank closes his eyes. "I'm not -" He sucks in air through his nose, and lets it out slow. "I don't think -" He breathes slowly, in and out. "I'm okay."

Gerard looks at him. "You're green."

Frank breathes again, in and out. "I got it. Ugh." He grimaces. "So gross, so _gross_."

Gerard pats his leg. "It really is." Barely worth the high, but for Frank, who's really sick, it'll knock him out, help him sleep, do the job. 

Frank does a whole body roll against the couch, legs up, head down, sliding so he's against Gerard's shoulder, then down so his head's on Gerard's thigh. His mouth is pulled down and tight, and he's got his hands tucked in his hoodie pockets, tight against his belly. 

"Sorry." Gerard can barely hear him, mostly just feels the rumble of the words against him. "I just - can we stay here? For a little bit? I just feel so -"

Frank coughs again, thick, and it sounds painful. Gerard lets his hand rest on Frank's shoulder, holding on to him a little as he coughs through it. 

"Sorry," Frank says again, weakly.

"Stop apologizing," Gerard says. "Asshole," he adds.

He looks down in time to see the side of Frank's mouth turn up into a weak smile. 

He's got no problem staying here for a while. He's pretty fucking tired too, and still sweaty in his stage clothes - he knows he'll wake up with a stiff neck if he falls asleep on the couch, but it's hard to keep his head up, especially with Frank's steady labored breathing beside him, Frank's head heavy and hot against Gerard's thigh.

He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, finally, closing his eyes. It's quiet in here, with just the two of them, and it feels _good_. He doesn't even realize he's actually dozed off until Frank jerks awake, snorting a little, and pushes himself up to sitting, slowly.

"Ah, fuck." Frank's cheek is creased with indents from Gerard's jeans, and his face is sort of smooshed from sleep. He's still a little unsteady, and gets all the way up to sitting before falling back, slowly, and coming to a rest on his back against the couch cushions. "Shit." He scrubs his hands over his face. "I promised Andy I wouldn't get him sick. I think I lied."

Andy. Gerard thought the last person was - Rachel? Or Barry. No, Rachel was the last one, Gerard remembers thinking about Frank going down on her in the back seat. "Who's Andy?"

"From LostAlone." Frank sighs and coughs, then scowls. "I wasn't sick. I _wasn't_. I felt fucking _fine_."

"Your immune system sucks," Gerard says. 

" _Your_ immune system sucks." Frank sighs. "Fuck." He scrubs his hands over his face. "That doesn't even make sense. I'm real tired. I think I have a fever. Please, just put me down. It's for my own good." He looks up at Gerard, pleading.

"No," Gerard says. "Tour would be a lot more dull." He pauses. "There isn't anyone named Andy in LostAlone."

"He's the roadie." Frank coughs, and winces.

"You hooked up with a roadie?" Gerard blinks.

Frank frowns at him. "Something wrong with that?"

Gerard sighs. "No!" He just hadn't known. He'd sort of vaguely been paying attention to people on tour, wondering who Frank would go for next, and he just hadn't quite, apparently, paid enough attention. "That isn't - I'm not - ugh."

He slouches down and glares across the couch at Frank who is, of course, laughing at him. Which makes him cough, and then cough some more, and then sit up, coughing and bending over, like he's choking, like he's not getting enough air. 

Gerard hauls him up a little, getting half down on his knees in front of him and hanging on to his shoulders, as Frank coughs thickly and desperately, hitching in tiny gasps of air, again, and again, until he's breathing more than he's coughing.

Gerard, realizing he's not quite breathing himself, half-sprawled on the floor, sucks in some air himself. "You got this?" he says.

Frank waves his hand, weakly, tears trickling down from the corners of his eyes as he regains his breath. "Not dying," he says. "Probably. Fuck."

Gerard slowly lets Frank slump back and gets up, grabbing the blanket crumpled at the end of the couch and tugging it up over him, tucking it in firmly. He looks down at Frank for a second - he's still gulping in air - and then pulls a pillow from the chair across the way, pushes it under Frank's back so he's half-sitting up.

"Can you breathe?" he demands. Fuck, his heart is beating way too fast, given how often this sort of thing happens to Frank.

Frank nods, looking pale and irritated. 

"Good." Gerard slumps down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch, letting his hands hang over his knees. "Jeez."

"I'm _fine_." Frank pokes at Gerard's shoulder. "What were we talking about?"

Where Frank had last stuck his dick. "Rachel," Gerard says finally. "I thought you guys were, like - I don't know."

"She has a girlfriend." Frank's voice is hoarse, and he reaches over Gerard's shoulder for the water on the table. "We were just having fun."

"I know." Gerard does know. He just doesn't get it. "I just thought - I don't know."

"Andy is cool," Frank says. "You'd like him. He played D&D."

"Is he looking for a game?" Gerard twists around to look at Frank. 

"He _played_ D &D," Frank says. "In high school. When he wasn't getting laid."

"Oh." Gerard turns back. The only one left who will play with him on tour is Mikey, and a two-player game is just not that much fun. 

They're quiet for a few minutes, just Frank's raspy breathing filling the silence.

Gerard's thinking about Frank hooking up with Andy the roadie. He doesn't know when or where it happened, but his brain is helpfully filling in with other details: Frank pressed up against a wall, the way he'd been the first time Gerard had seen him hooking up. Frank's mouth open and wet. Maybe they'd found someplace private enough - a hotel room, maybe - where they'd be able to be loud. Gerard wonders about that. He's only ever heard Frank when he was trying to be quiet - the hook-up he'd seen, with Frank biting his lip and swallowing his noises, and they'd all heard and tried to ignore each other jerking off in the van or the bus - you got good at ignoring those sounds after a while.

But if Frank could be loud - 

Gerard glances over his shoulder, at where Frank has fallen asleep, sagging down against the couch. 

It doesn't matter. It isn't Gerard's business, or at least it never has been before, so why does he care? He gets up, tugging the covers up over Frank's shoulder, and heads down to his bunk. A nap sounds like a good idea.

*

Frank gets better, finally. A week goes by, and then two, and Frank is still healthy, and it's weird enough that everyone keeps commenting on it. Frank takes it cheerfully enough, even though Ray still backs away when Frank comes too close, eyeing him cautiously and refusing to share a water bottle with him. It leads to Ray losing several beers on stage, as all it takes is for Frank to pick one up for Ray to hold his hands up and gesture _it's yours_ at him.

There's a glitch during sound check one night, and they end up having to sit around for ages as the crew tries to get things going again. Gerard's sitting on the edge of the stage, looking out into the vast, somewhat dank venue. Empty like this, it's nothing but gloomy and dim. He squints, trying to picture the way it will look tonight, but it's too strange, too far off from what he can see now. It never seems real until it's happening, no matter how many times he's up here.

Something brushes against the back of his head, and he twists around - the wrong way, as it turns out, as Frank drops down beside him on the other side. "It's raining out," he says, taking a swig out of his water bottle. "I was out back smoking and there are an alarming number of worms on the sidewalk." He takes another drink. "I took pictures. Wanna see?"

"Yes," Gerard says immediately, and leans against Frank's shoulder as Frank pulls out his camera and flips through the pictures of the worms - there really is a weird amount of them - on the damp asphalt. 

Frank looks at the last picture with deep satisfaction. "I might have to tweet that later," he says, putting the camera away. He yawns and glances back over his shoulder, where the crew doesn't seem to be getting very far with the sound issues. Mikey and Ray are fiddling around with their instruments, not talking but clearly communicating on a whole other level. "This is gonna be a while."

Gerard nods, yawning back even though he's not sleepy. 

Frank's legs are hanging off of the stage, and he's kicking his heels softly against it in some rhythm that must make sense in his head. Gerard watches Frank's scuffed Chucks go back and forth, back and forth, until they suddenly go out of view, as Frank swings them up and sits cross-legged on the edge of the stage. 

"You've been keeping track," Frank says softly. 

Gerard glances over at him. "Huh?"

Frank just looks at him, steadily. "You have." He shrugs. "It's okay, I don't mind. I just noticed you noticing." 

Gerard is really lost here. "Keeping track of what?" He thinks about it. The tour? The time? They all do that. Maybe Frank - oh. "Well. You get sick a lot - it's something I sort of _need_ to pay attention to."

Frank shakes his head. "That's not it," he says. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gerard says, still confused. "I don't keep track of anything. You get sick, you get everyone _else_ sick, it _affects_ things…"

Frank grins a little. "That's what you've been keeping track of," he says. "The 'everyone else' part."

Oh. "Well." Gerard frowns a little. "You've been a little -" What's a nice word? "- friendlier than usual this tour."

"You think?" Frank says, looking up at the ceiling like he's thinking about it. "Friendlier with my _dick_ , you mean?" He tilts his head down, grinning wider, and Gerard laughs nervously and can't help but glance over his shoulder to see if anyone heard.

The guys in the crew aren't paying any attention. Ray is watching Mikey play, and Mikey has his head tilted down, paying attention to his own hands. His shoulders are set in a way that lets Gerard know he's half-listening to their conversation.

Frank unfolds his legs and leans back against the stage on his hands, leaving his knees propped up. "What did you see?" 

Gerard laughs again - he can't help it, even though he sounds so dumb - and he's pretty sure he's blushing, even though _that's_ dumb, too. "I didn't see anything."

He's lying, and Frank knows it. Frank doesn't even bother looking at him, he's just quiet, waiting.

Augh. Gerard shrugs. "Just one time," he says. 

"When?" Frank sounds really curious, like this is something he's been wondering about. "What time? With who?"

"Some guy," Gerard says. Barry. "From that band, you know? Back in Amsterdam?"

"Oh." Frank doesn't say his name, either, and Gerard wonders if he remembers it. "Oh, man, jeez, that means you saw -" He cuts himself off, and now maybe _Frank_ is blushing.

Gerard blinks, tilting his head back, and turning towards Frank. "What?" he says. "What?"

Frank shakes his head, and yeah, his cheeks are red, and he's sort of cracking up.

"I just saw you kissing," Gerard protests. "What did I _miss_?"

Frank's laughing harder, sitting forward, both hands covering his face, as he shakes his head. "Nothing!" he says. "Nothing, I never said anything, _nothing_."

What had they _done_? "Frank, you were _outside_ , against the bus!" Gerard says in a shocked tone. "Anyone could have come by! _I_ just happened to see what I saw! What did you do?"

"Kissing," Frank gasps out. "Just kissing, he was very sweet, good guy." Frank can barely get the words out between giggles, and Gerard lunges forward to tug at his hands, pull them off his face. Frank has tears of laughter at the corner of his eyes, and he yanks himself away, rolling onto his side on the stage and clutching his stomach.

Mikey's feet in their boots come into view as Gerard ineffectually paws at Frank on the stage. "Dinner," he says from somewhere up above. 

Gerard and Frank roll over and look up at him.

Mikey shrugs. "They say they've gotta get a part," he says. "For the system. We've got to come back in an hour or so. They'll call us."

Frank is still shaking with laughter, gasping as he tries to catch his breath. Gerard nods up at Mikey. "Okay."

Mikey looks down at them for another handful of beats. "Okay," he says. "I'm going to get food."

He wanders off, and Gerard pushes himself to sitting, then hauls himself to his feet, waiting as Frank slowly gets himself together, and reaches out a hand, indicating for Gerard to pull him up. Gerard sighs, and does so. 

Frank is flushed and his eyes are still damp and bright. 

"Seriously," Gerard says, because this is really not fair. "What did you _do_?"

Frank snorts out a giggle, and wraps a hand around Gerard's arm. "C'mon," he says. "They want us out of here."

The crew are sort of milling about, but yeah, they seems to be waiting for them to clear the stage. Gerard lets Frank tug him side stage, not really paying attention to where they're going. He's still thinking about what it was that he could have caught Frank doing if he'd waited around long enough. He'd thought he'd just missed a blowjob. Was a blowjob enough to get _Frank_ to blush? 

Frank skids to a stop and wheels around, Gerard running into him from the momentum of being pulled, sending Frank staggering back against a wall. "Sorry." He tugs Frank forward and brushes off his shoulder like that would help if he'd actually hurt him. "It wasn't just a blowjob, then?" he asks.

Frank's mouth opens, then closes, and his eyes crinkle as he clearly tries to hold back more laughter. "No," he says. "Not just a blowjob." He narrows his eyes. "What _did_ you see? More than kissing."

Gerard shakes his head. "Nothing, I swear. He was going for your belt and I just figured -" He blinks, and looks around. "Where are we?"

There's a door with an alarmed bar across it, and stacks of dusty crates haphazardly strewn along the grafittied wall. "It goes outside," Frank says, jerking his chin at the door. "Where the worms were."

Oh. "But won't the alarm go off?"

"Jimmy shut it off for me," Frank says, looking distracted. "When I needed a smoke."

Jimmy. Is he Frank's latest hook-up? Gerard opens his mouth to ask.

"Shut up for a second," Frank says. "What did you see? Tell me."

"I can't do both," Gerard points out reasonably, but when Frank makes an impatient sound, he complies. "Just - I don't know, nothing, like, NC-17 or anything. Just you kissing him. And, well -" Asking for more. Gerard remembers how Frank's voice sounded, totally wrecked as he said _please. Please._ "I don't know. Your face was all tipped back, and your mouth was open, and you looked really - into it."

Frank nods, still watching him. 

"He went for your belt." Gerard remembers hearing the clinking. "And he kissed your neck. And -" He shakes his head. "And I took off, because I didn't want to make it weird." He pauses. "Although, telling you all this is a little weird."

" _That_ 's the point that makes it weird?" Frank asks.

Gerard widened his eyes at him. "According to _you_ , whatever happened after definitely would have!"

"Point," Frank says, after a pause. "Huh."

"What?" Gerard's still thinking about how Frank's face looked tilted back against the bus. 

"That was a long time ago," Frank says. "Start of the tour."

Gerard nods. "Yeah." Frank's gotten a lot of people sick since then.

"You remember it really well." Frank's watching him now, in the dim corridor, and it seems so strange, that this Frank in front of him, that he knows so well, is the same Frank of a few months back, caught in Gerard's mind's eye, his fingers clenched against a guy's shoulders, his mouth wet and open as he shoved his hips forward. 

Gerard shrugs, caught between the two moments, then and now. "I remember things that are beautiful," he says. It sounds like a line, it sounds scripted, but - "That's how I think of it." He shrugs again - he knows he's weird, but Frank knows it too, so it's no surprise. 

"You - hmm." Frank cuts himself off. "That's how you think of it?"

Gerard nods. 

Frank's standing real close to him in the corridor, and moves forward a little more, and they're right up against each other. He knows Frank stupidly well; he feels like he's known him forever. But this is a different sort of Frank, this is the sexy Frank, a different side, not silly or funny or sick - just a different side to him. 

Gerard clears his throat, because Frank's not doing anything, just looking at him. If anyone came down the corridor now and saw them, it would look like they were fighting, maybe. 

"Maybe not all the time," Gerard says, his mouth continuing the conversation without his say-so.

Frank's breathing a little bit fast, staring at him. 

"Maybe not just, like, beautiful," Gerard manages. "Maybe - hot. Maybe -"

Maybe he's been thinking about it a lot, since it happened. Maybe he sort of hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. Maybe it gave him a whole new angle on how he sees Frank, and he's not sure how, or why, that is, but he does know that he doesn't want to say all this stuff to Frank, not yet, anyway, or maybe ever. His mouth gets away from him sometimes, though. 

"What?" Frank asks, his voice hoarse. 

Gerard's mouth gets away from him again, and he kisses Frank. Not simple or light but rough, the way he'd been thinking about for - a while now. 

Frank's hands come up immediately, curl in the sleeves of Gerard's jacket, hanging on, pulling him closer. 

It's like crazy, hormonal kissing, Gerard's heart beating so hard in his ears he thinks he could maybe pass out from it. He's hard as fuck pretty much immediately, and he sort of realizes that he's been turned on since they were back on the stage together, has maybe been turned on by Frank for months. He wonders how many other decisions his body's been making without him. 

He pulls back a little, to gasp for breath and maybe wonder for a second if this just makes him Frank's latest hook-up, like Barry and Craig and Rachel. 

Frank goes, "What? _What_?" Demanding, and hauling him back in. 

Gerard thinks he might be okay, maybe, with being a hook-up. He pushes forward, shoves Frank back, following him until Frank hits the other side of the corridor with a muffled crash, Gerard landing up against him immediately. 

"Fuck." Frank sounds like he can barely get the word out. He tilts his head back against the wall, looking at Gerard, and that's it, that is absolutely _it_ , Gerard's body takes away all decision-making from him. Gerard's got his mouth on Frank's throat, the side of his neck, where it's hot and sweaty. He's sucking on the skin there, and Frank's fingers are digging into his back, where his arms have slid around under his jacket, hanging on while Frank pants, hot against his ear.

"Jesus fucking…" Frank's gasping, hard and pushing his hips forward, and he's so hard up against Gerard, so fucking _hard_. "You've gotta - Gerard, _fuck_ , please, _please_ -"

Gerard's yanking Frank's jeans open so fast that Frank can only gasp, _"Jesus_ ," one more time before Gerard's on his knees in front of him. Maybe he didn't see a blowjob, but he's been _thinking_ about a blowjob for fucking months now. 

"Months," he mumbles up against Frank's dick - Frank's _dick!_ \- and Frank goes, "What? _What_?" again, but shuts up really fucking fast when Gerard sucks him into his mouth. 

Frank's head goes banging back against the wall and his hands are clenched in Gerard's hair immediately, and Gerard thinks, frantically, that he might come before Frank does. Every move of his hips is bringing him closer, and the smell of Frank, the feel of his dick in his mouth, sliding in and out in this perfect rhythm that is harder to achieve than porn might make you think - Jesus. _Jesus_.

He hasn't sucked dick in way too fucking long, and god, he's _missed_ this. He shoves Frank's jeans down a little with both hands, working hard to not lose the rhythm, just so he can hold on, can press his thumbs up against that perfect dip under Frank's stomach. Frank's making all of these bitten-back noises up above him, saying something frantically, maybe Gerard's name, Gerard doesn't know, or care - fuck, he's not even sure if he'd _recognize_ it at this point. 

There's a hitch to the movement of Frank's hips, and his fingers are twisting in Gerard's hair, and oh yeah, come on, he's ready, he's - Frank comes with a moan, flooding Gerard's mouth, and Gerard loves it, he fucking _loves_ it.

"Jesus," Frank pants out, shaking underneath Gerard's hands. "Jesus, Gerard, I warned you - I _said_ -" He pulls his dick out of Gerard's mouth, and Gerard looks up at him, his mouth wet and aching just a little. "You shouldn't swallow! It's not smart!"

Gerard's gazing up at Frank, whose dick is still hanging out, wet from Gerard's mouth. "I know, I don't usually - I _don't_!" he says, when Frank arches his eyebrow. "But, I mean. It's _you_."

"You called me slutty," Frank points out. "That makes it, like, _really_ not a good idea."

"You're slutty _and_ smart," Gerard says, thinking that this is more of a conversation than his dick would really like to be having at this moment. Did Frank usually chat with his hook-ups? Maybe. He knew that dude from LostAlone liked D &D.

"You're an idiot," Frank says, but he's still breathless and he's stroking Gerard's cheek with his thumb, so Gerard's pretty sure he doesn't mean it. 

"Anyway," Gerard says, and when Frank just keeps looking at him, he gestures wordlessly to the front of his jeans, where he is still epically hard. 

"Come up here and I'll jerk you off," Frank says.

Gerard frowns. "Come down here," he says. He's tired.

"It's dirty down there," Frank says. "Come up here and I'll tell you exactly what Barry from Twin Atlantic did to me behind the bus, _while_ I jerk you off."

Gerard gets up immediately, his knees creaking, but his dick absolutely ready to hear the story. 

*

"I can't believe you let him do that," Gerard says sleepily, from his vantage point on the couch in the dressing room after the show. 

" _You_ said you wanted to do that," Frank points out, yawning as he finishes packing his duffle bag. "When I told you about it." 

"Of course I want to do that." Gerard lifts his head up a little, casting a look around, but they're alone in the room at the moment, though the door is open a little bit. "Just not, like, up against the _bus_."

Frank drops his bag on the floor next to the couch and gives Gerard a look through his eyelashes that makes Gerard go hot all over. 

"Okay, yeah, maybe," Gerard allows. He's gone from sleepy to a little wound up and he wonders if Frank would be up for more than a one-time thing.

"Have you done it before?" Frank asks curiously. "Like, rimmed someone?"

Gerard has what one might call an oral fixation. So, yes. Yes, he's done that before. He nods, flushing, because Frank's giving him another look, one that says he's thinking about Gerard doing that, about Gerard licking _Frank's_ ass. Frank seems like he maybe would be up for more than a one-time thing, and Gerard is _definitely_ up -

"You guys ready to go?" Mikey says, coming in to the room and slouching down on the couch next to where Gerard is sprawled.

"Uh." Gerard draws his knees up. "Yeah. We're - yeah."

Mikey has one earbud in and is fiddling with his phone and probably doesn't even notice or care that Frank is laughing for no apparent reason. 

Gerard glares at Frank just a little, and Frank gives him a little _what, it's not my fault you were thinking about licking my butthole_ shrug of innocence, and okay, maybe they know each other a little too well for so much to be conveyed through a shrug, but there you go.

"C'mon," Frank says. "Let's go back to the bus."

There's almost no pause before "bus" but Gerard still gets a very intense flashback of Frank pressed up against it, except this time it's Gerard holding him there, and - okay, this isn't helping.

Frank grins at him broadly, and picks up his duffle, then grabs Mikey's arm and hauls him up from the couch. "Let's go, Mikey," he says. 

"Be right there," Gerard calls after them, relieved. 

Frank waves as he goes out the door, then coughs, and coughs again. 

"Are you okay?" Gerard hears Mikey ask.

"Fine," Frank says, and sneezes. "Never better."

"Oh god," Mikey says.

"Oh god," Gerard echoes, to himself, and fumbles for his phone, googling "immune system boost." Just in case this happens again. Can't hurt to be prepared.


End file.
